


Mundanity Meets Majesty

by SuperSkylar



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Nyotalia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSkylar/pseuds/SuperSkylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I hate the cold. I’ve always hated that cool, wet, unwelcoming feeling that builds up inside you. I hate being consumed. Then again, I never enjoyed the sunshine either."</p><p>Set in modern day Copenhagen, human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mundanity Meets Majesty

I hate the cold.

I’ve always hated that cool, wet, unwelcoming feeling that builds up inside you. I hate being consumed.

Then again, I never enjoyed the sunshine either. 

* * *

 

“Come on, Nora, honey. You’ll love Denmark! Open fields, majestic forests…”

I looked at my stout father wearily. His face held one of those forcefully reassuring expressions. I sighed softly as I adjusted the damp cyan scarf draped loosely around my neck, returning his falsity with the fake smile I had worked to perfect so well. “I know, Far. I love you.”

* * *

 He lied.

Denmark was neither open nor majestic. Taking the loop down through Sweden and across the dark Øresund into the capital of Copenhagen led to a sizable but unattractive European metropolis. Carefree but bustling people weaved their way through the paved path that snaked throughout the labyrinth of streets entwined with one another, each of them equally monotonous and grayscale. _So majestic._

The home, sold to the widower Ole Thomassen and his “only” daughter, save for the nonexistent one shipped to Asia for her "singular" sexuality, was respectfully large. It was given at a discount due to a leaky kitchen faucet and a small bit of grime developing in the sitting room corner. As Father droned on about his niche equipping him to solve such “petty downsides,” I decided, with no deliberation, that the only exciting thing about the dreary structure was a personal en suite bathroom and much space between loud Norwegian words replying to televised football matches and my chamber.

“And… Nora? Nora,” Father smiled from the doorway as I had found myself snuggled underneath my new coral duvet. “Don’t you like it? It’s near the university; there are some pubs…”

“It’s fine,” I replied in a bid to silence him. “I’ll grow to it.” I didn’t need his reiteration. I was now living in a flat country, minus a large bed, glorious scenery, and a shit boyfriend that I had clung to mundanely for as long as I could muster. It was shit.

* * *

Around ten in the evening of my first day in the Danish capital, I had found myself with a fourth of a bottle of red wine under my belt and an extensive marathon of American reality programming running on the newly installed television.

A clan of movers had shuffled in around six, roughly, and made their way planting numerous furnishings in my bedroom and the guest room, excluding my father’s; he rarely slept at home, his newfound job as a policeman bound to keep him out even more so than the previous one.

I sent them off with a tip and a silent prayer that they shan’t return.

I had eventually decided, after the Kardashians suddenly became all too much, that something had to be done. I was confident that death would be inevitable if I didn’t find something to do with daylight. This led to the newspaper.

In secondary school, I had won several awards for my working in prose, usually involving dramatic romance or a domestic issue that I found annoyingly looming. Though I had to censor them.

After another glassful worth of Malbec, I had found myself on my stomach with my MacBook Pro and the now crumpled Copenhagen Post bending over the arm of the sofa, the latter’s website open on the bright display, the sports section in full view. Amusingly, I thought perhaps playing handball again or maybe befriending some athletic girls might raise my spirits, or possibly find somebody else to mock this new life with. I found something more probable though.

“Women’s Association Football Season Anew: Amateur Writer Wanted.”


End file.
